Embarking on a Path of Prosperity

A few days later, Chengyu was summoned from his temporary chambers and back into a room where the heavy scent of incense coiled like a lazy serpent, tendrils reaching him as he knelt on the cool stone floor before the dais. Gossamer curtains danced in the periphery of his vision, playing with the golden light that spilled from ornate lanterns hanging above. The throne room of Lord Hongli was an ocean of marble and jade, each wave meticulously carved and polished to reflect the grandeur of his reign.

Scattered along the length of the grand room were men dressed like scholars, then guards, and behind them, almost cowering against the wall were servants. Unable to look forward, Chengyu's gaze briefly fluttered between each face he passed. They regarded him with utter indifference, but some held hints of scorn.

Although Lord Hongli sat staring ahead, impassively as if everything were beneath him, the girl to his left, the one with flowing, light brown hair, so light that it appeared to have streaks of orange, stared at Chengyu with warm, welcoming eyes. A faint smile pulled at the edges of her lips, and in the sunlight, she was magnificent. She seemed to glow as if she were the source of overwhelming light.

"Approach," came a sonorous command, and Chengyu's heart quickened its rhythm. He felt the weight of countless eyes upon him as he moved closer to the elevated seat where Lord Hongli sat, regal and inscrutable. His robes whispered against the ground, a sibilant murmur lost in the cavernous silence.

"Lord Hongli," Chengyu began, voice taut with apprehension. He didn't know where his formality came from, but it served him well. And although he wanted to inquire about the girl directly, he had quickly learned to neither speak her name nor speak to her directly. "I pray the Lady Yuehua is recovering well?"

"Rise, Apothecary Chengyu," Lord Hongli replied, his voice not unkind. "My daughter has made a full recovery, thanks to your daring and skill."

Chengyu's relief was a sudden warmth that bloomed in his chest, spreading like the first rays of dawn across a frosted landscape. Yet it was a warmth tempered by uncertainty, for what could an emperor possibly bestow upon one such as he?

"Your deeds warrant reward," Lord Hongli continued, hands clasping the armrests of his throne. "As such, you shall be taken in by the local apothecary Xiuqin. She will provide for your needs and instruct you further in the healing arts."

Chengyu's mind raced even as he bowed deeply, his forehead nearly brushing the floor. "You honor me beyond measure, Lord Hongli." The words were the correct ones, the expected ones, but they tasted of ash upon his tongue. Behind the veil of gratitude that Chengyu felt compelled to present, a coil of fear tightened around his heart. The people here didn't know him but knew of his talents, his knowledge that spanned beyond the herbs and poultices of this ancient realm. Were they seeking to bind him to them? Did they want to force him to stay for them to extract every drop of his arcane expertise?

"I care not for the man you were before. Here, your life shall begin anew," Lord Hongli said. "Serve well, learn much, and your path shall be one of prosperity."

"Thank you, My Lord." Chengyu kept his gaze lowered, hiding the tempest within.

To serve. To learn. Words that should bring comfort, yet they felt like the closing of a cage. Although he had been freed from the confines of a school, he would now enter a new kind of institution, one where there was no choice but to partake.

As he retreated from the throne room, his steps measured and deliberate, Chengyu's thoughts churned with the possibilities and perils of his new future. A roof over his head, a place at someone's table—these were not by any means small gifts. But the whims of destiny were fickle, and he wondered if they might unravel in his hands.

He would need to be cautious. Above all, he would have to observe and adapt. In the court of Lord Hongli, every gesture held meaning, and every word had weight. Chengyu could not afford to forget that, not for a moment. His fate, it seemed, now lay intertwined with that of a humble apothecary. And only time would tell if it was a blessing or a finely wrought chain.

Before he departed, Chengyu halted in the doorway. His knees found the cool stone floor of the palace's throne room once more as his head bowed, nearly touching the ground.

Lord Hongli's voice, regal and detached, filtered through the incense-laden air, offering gratitude and the promise of further opportunities should he continue to prove himself worthwhile.

"Once again, I would like to reiterate, your generosity knows no bounds," Chengyu intoned, the words smooth and rehearsed as he masked his unease with feigned humility. Yuehua, her delicate features schooled into impassivity, watched from the periphery, her gaze a silent whisper that tickled the edges of his consciousness. He caught it just once before schooling his face into stoic gratitude, the barest hint of a smile threatening to betray his thoughts of flight.

"May your benevolence guide me on this new path," Chengyu continued, each syllable a step closer to an uncertain future.

He returned to his temporary room, which was just as bare as when he was first imprisoned in it. Only now, he had new clothes modeled after the servants'. He didn't have anything to pack, and so, Chengyu unceremonious departed, not even daring to look at Lord Hongli as he exited the palace and jumped into the back of an inclosed wooden box atop wheels, pulled along by a horse.

They ventured to a gate, momentarily stalling so the driver could chat with the guards.

"We're leaving the palace," he said. "Taking the brat to Apothecary Auntie."

Wait, I've been in the Imperial City this entire time? Chengyu realized with a start. Maybe not the actual one, but something similar enough to be compared, even if a lord was technically lower-ranked than an emperor.

The journey to Xiuqin's home began with the solemn procession of the cart, its wheels creaking a monotonous litany against the cobblestones. As they passed through the grand gates, Chengyu saw what must've been the servant's quarters vanish, a mirage giving way to grim reality.

His mind plotted silently as the cart trundled on, weaving through streets that grew narrower and more sordid with each turn. Only dark streets loomed ahead, a stark contrast to the golden opulence he was leaving behind.

"End of the line," the driver announced, his long hair flowing like a banner of his station as he dismounted, sword glinting ominously at his side.

Chengyu followed suit, his feet meeting the earth of the redlight district. The alleys closed in around them, claustrophobic and suffocating, shadows playing tricks on the eye. The stench of desperation clung to the air, seeping into his pores. Addicts huddled in doorways, their eyes hollow, while elsewhere the sounds of brawling and crass laughter punctuated the night.

"Keep moving," the guard urged, his voice cutting through Chengyu's revulsion.

They finally arrived at a modest dwelling. It was a home that he might've seen in the countryside of China, a small house in a L-shape that had a courtyard in the middle, all enclosed by a gate. It was a place where the scent of herbs fought valiantly against the decay. Even if it was rotting and decrepit, the house was oddly out of place among other two-story shacks. A tree even grew in the middle of the courtyard, though weeds crept between cracks and vines clung to walls with chipped paint. Toward the back of the building, there was a well.

There was a window near the front door, and through it, an old lady, assumedly Xiuqin the apothecary, was bidding farewell to a girl, whose spirited aura seemed incongruous with the dilapidation around her. Despite its worn quality and plain design, her robes were brightly dyed. She wore a portion of her hair in a bun, pinned to the middle of the back of her head, while loose strands framed her face. Her eyes were small and sharp, like a fox's. Her petite frame belied her strength, as she was hauling a crate packed with vials that clicked with every step, yet she gave no signs of strain.

"Ah, you must be Zhang Chengyu," the girl said with a bow, her voice a bright chime in the gloom. "We received word of your arrival yesterday, and your outfit is as strange as promised. I am Xiangcui, Xiuqin's apprentice."

"Nice to meet you," Chengyu replied, his voice tinged with the awkwardness of one unaccustomed to such lively company. But as quickly as she'd appeared, she departed, soon disappearing down the dark alley and around the corner, the faint sound of glass clinking.

Xiuqin smiled. "Come in, come in," she beckoned from the doorway, her silhouette haloed by the warm glow of oil lamps within.

"Thank you," Chengyu murmured, yet he lingered at the gate's threshold. He glanced back at the driver, whose expression remained unreadable, then forward again to Xiuqin's expectant face.

"May I learn from your vast knowledge," he continued, hoping his sincerity sounded more convincing than it felt.

"Indeed, you shall," Xiuqin smiled, closing the door behind him. "If you are to someday serve the Lord, then we have much work to do."

Chengyu hadn't heard about that, but he supposed it was only natural that Lord Hongli would seek his services in some way. His heart beat a quiet rhythm of cautious optimism as he braced himself for whatever lay ahead, his thoughts drifting like leaves on a stream—toward escape, toward survival.

He crossed through the gates, then ventured to Xiuqin's home, his steps hesitant as if the floorboards might give way beneath him. The house was a relic, its walls lined with shelves that sagged under the weight of countless jars and vials. A pervading scent of something sweet hung in the air, clinging to the dust motes that danced in shafts of fading light. No luggage burdened Chengyu's shoulders; he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a well of untapped knowledge.

"Please, have a seat," Xiuqin said, gesturing towards a low table. The wood creaked as she settled opposite him, her eyes sharp yet not unkind. "You must be famished."

"Thank you. I'm grateful for your hospitality," Chengyu replied, folding his legs beneath him. His gaze flitted over the chipped bowls and wooden chopsticks laid out before them. There was a quiet dignity to the simplicity of it all.

Xiuqin ladled out a portion of bland soup, its steam carrying little promise of flavor. Beside it lay a few cold, pickled vegetables. Chengyu took a tentative sip, the liquid tepid on his tongue. It lacked seasoning, perhaps, but he swallowed without complaint, his gratitude genuine despite the meal's shortcomings.

"How is it?"

"It's very nourishing," he said, managing a small smile.

Nourishing? Chengyu despaired over his choice of words. She opens her home to me, and that's the best I can manage? How pathetic.

"Tasty food is scarce these days," Xiuqin sighed, her expression shaded with resignation. "But we make do with what we have."

They ate in companionable silence, save for the occasional clink of ceramics. With each mouthful, an unexpected warmth began to unfurl within Chengyu's chest—a comforting embrace that felt oddly like…

No, not quite home, but perhaps something approaching it, like when he'd visit his grandmother and enjoy being spoiled.

This kindness is more than I deserve, he thought as he placed his chopsticks down.

"Rest now," Xiuqin suggested, rising to fetch a woven mat from a nearby cupboard. She spread it out on the floor with shaky hands, offering him a blanket that had seen better days. "We start early here."

"Thank you," Chengyu said, his voice soft with fatigue. He reclined on the mat, the coarse texture against his skin a stark contrast to the silk sheets of his past life.

As the moon ascended, its silver light spilled through the barred window, casting geometric patterns on the floor. Chengyu pulled the blanket tighter around him, shivering slightly in the drafty room. In the quietude of night, his thoughts drifted to the modern comforts he once knew—the hum of technology, the ease of summoning heat from a button's press. And as he thought about it, he realized his throat was parched, but there was no water to be seen.

For the first time since his arrival in this strange era, he found himself longing for the familiar chaos of his own time. He wouldn't even mind sitting in class, hearing the senseless chatter of his peers.

No, I have to make the most of this, he thought to himself, closing his eyes against the pull of homesickness. Within the confines of his mind, plans began to take shape, paths toward escape weaving through his consciousness like threads of fate yet to be pulled taut. But for tonight, in Xiuqin's crumbling abode, he would rest. And in this momentary stillness, he could almost believe that everything would be alright.